Chapter 26
“You are not staying in bed all morning.”
Arabella turned her face further into the pillow, one hand lifting in a half-hearted protest as the curtains were drawn open with more determination than care. Light flooded the room at once, too bright, too immediate, and she closed her eyes against it.
“Eleanor,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and something less easily named, “I would prefer if you did not—”
“You would prefer a great many things that are not good for you,” Eleanor replied, her tone brisk but not unkind. She crossed the room with purpose, already reaching for the coverlet. “Up. The day has begun, whether you intend to acknowledge it or not.”
Arabella made a quiet sound of discontent as the covers were drawn back, though she did not resist beyond that. There was something in Eleanor’s manner that made resistance feel both futile and unnecessary.
“I am not ill,” Arabella said, though she pushed herself upright all the same. “Merely tired. And unwilling.”
“Then you may be tired of fresh air instead of stale,” Eleanor returned. “It is far more productive.”
Arabella sat for a moment longer than necessary, her feet resting against the floor, her thoughts slow to gather, and slower still to cooperate. The events of the previous evening pressed at the edges of her awareness, though she did not allow herself to dwell on them. Not yet.
“Very well,” she said at last, rising. “If only to satisfy your insistence.”
Eleanor’s expression softened just slightly. “That is all I require.”
The morning air was cool when they stepped out, the streets already beginning to fill with the measured rhythm of carriages and early walkers. Eleanor set their pace without comment, her arm linked through Arabella’s in a way that should have felt familiar, but didn’t entirely.
They did not speak at first.
The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Not easy either. It had been some time since they had walked together like this without purpose, without expectation. Arabella found herself aware of it in a way she had not anticipated.
Eleanor glanced at her once, then again, as though measuring the distance between what had been and what now stood in its place.
At last, she spoke.
“When did we stop speaking to one another?”
The question landed more sharply than Eleanor’s tone might have suggested.
Arabella slowed slightly, her gaze fixed ahead rather than turning to meet her sister’s. She had not expected it to be asked so plainly, so directly, without the softening that might have made it easier to answer.
“I told myself we had not,” she said, though the words felt insufficient even as she spoke them.
Eleanor did not release her arm. “You know that is not quite true.”
Arabella drew a breath, the air cool against her lungs. “Perhaps I did not wish to examine it too closely.”
“Then examine it now,” Eleanor said quietly.
There was no reproach in her voice. No accusation. Only a steady invitation that made it difficult to turn away.
Arabella stopped walking.
For a moment, she said nothing. The street moved around them, the quiet hum of conversation and passing wheels continuing as though nothing had shifted at all.
“I did not wish to add to your concerns,” she said at last.
Eleanor’s hand tightened slightly on her arm. “You never have. Not once.”
“That is not how it felt,” Arabella replied, her voice softer now. “You had your own life, your own concerns. And I…” She hesitated, searching for the right shape of it. “I felt as though my choices were always… evaluated, whether you intended it or not.”
Eleanor’s expression changed at that, something like surprise flickering through it before settling into something more thoughtful.
“I did judge you,” she admitted, after a moment. “More than I should have. I thought it was my duty to guide you, to ensure you did not make mistakes I could prevent.”
Arabella looked at her then. “And did you believe I would?”
“I believed you capable of anything,” Eleanor said, a faint smile touching her lips. “Which, as it turns out, includes decisions I was entirely unprepared for.”
There was a brief pause, the tension easing just slightly.
“I am sorry,” Eleanor continued, her tone more earnest now. “Not for caring, but for the manner in which I expressed it. I see now that it created a distance I did not intend.”
Arabella held her gaze, the sincerity there difficult to dismiss.
“I did not wish to trouble you,” she said again, though more quietly this time. “And when I felt… judged, it seemed easier not to speak at all.”
Eleanor exhaled, the sound soft. “You could never trouble me in the way you imagine.”
Arabella’s brow furrowed slightly. “You say that, but—”
“I say it because it is true,” Eleanor interrupted gently. “Do you think I would be as I am now if you had not been there? If I had not had you beside me when everything else seemed uncertain?”
Arabella’s breath caught, just slightly.
“You were never a burden,” Eleanor continued. “You were the reason I endured much of what I did. The reason I found my way through it with any measure of happiness at all.”
The words settled into something deeper than reassurance. Something that shifted the ground beneath Arabella’s assumptions in a way she had not quite prepared for.
“I did not know that,” she said.
“I suspect you did not wish to,” Eleanor replied, though without unkindness.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Arabella stepped forward, closing the small distance that had formed between them, and Eleanor met her without hesitation. The embrace was firm in a way that spoke of familiarity long set aside and now, quietly, reclaimed.
“I am sorry,” Arabella said into her shoulder.
“As am I,” Eleanor returned.
They drew apart slowly, the air between them lighter than it had been before.
It was then, perhaps because the moment had softened something within her, that Arabella spoke again.
“There is something else,” she said.
Eleanor’s attention sharpened at once, though her expression remained open. “Yes?”
Arabella hesitated, only briefly. “I am with child.”
The words did not feel as heavy now as they had the night before. They settled differently here, in the open air, in the presence of someone who had known her longer than anyone else.
Eleanor’s reaction was immediate.
“Arabella—” she began, her face lighting with a joy that transformed it entirely. That is—” She stopped, as if the word had outpaced her, “That is wonderful.”
She reached for her hands, her grip warm and steady. “You must allow me to make every possible arrangement. We shall ensure you are comfortable, that you want for nothing—”
She paused then.
Something in Arabella’s expression did not match hers.
The smile had not fully formed. The brightness Eleanor expected to see was not there.
Instead, there was something else.
A shadow of hesitation. Of uncertainty.
Eleanor’s joy softened, her gaze searching her sister’s face more closely now. “Arabella,” she said, more quietly, “why do you look as though this is not entirely good news?”
For a moment, Arabella considered answering plainly. She could have done it. The words were there, waiting. About the arrangement. About how it had begun. About how it had changed.
“I—” she began, then faltered.
Eleanor’s hand remained lightly at her arm, steady but not insistent. “You need not explain all at once,” she said. “Only enough that I may understand what troubles you.”
Arabella drew a slow breath, her gaze shifting briefly to the path ahead.
The promenade stretched quietly before them, the usual clusters of walkers thinner than expected for the hour.
It struck her then— properly, this time, the absence of noise, the way the morning seemed less occupied than it ought to be.
“It is not the child that troubles me,” Arabella said carefully. “It is what it represents. Or rather… what it does not.”
Eleanor’s brow furrowed slightly. “Your husband—”
The words did not reach their conclusion.
A disturbance broke through the stillness behind them, not loud enough to draw immediate attention, but abrupt enough to disrupt the fragile rhythm of their conversation. Footsteps, uneven and too hurried for the setting, closed the distance before either of them could turn fully to meet them.
“I must speak with you.”
The voice cut across their exchange, breathless and sharp with urgency that did not belong to polite society.
Arabella turned.
Lord Covington stood only a few paces away, his chest rising with the effort of his approach, his composure less carefully arranged than she had ever seen it.
There was something unsettled in his expression, something that did not quite align with the man who had spoken so smoothly only days before.
Behind him, their maid appeared, equally breathless, her steps faltering as she came to a stop. Her expression was one of clear distress, though she tried to master it.
“My lady—” she began, though the words tangled in her haste.
Eleanor stepped forward at once, placing herself slightly ahead of Arabella without drawing attention to the movement. “Lower your voice,” she said, her tone controlled. “And you will explain yourself with proper decorum.”
Covington did not retreat.
“I have not the time for decorum,” he said, his gaze fixed not on Eleanor, but on Arabella. “This cannot wait.”
Eleanor’s posture sharpened, the shift subtle but unmistakable. “You will find that I have very little patience for being addressed in such a manner. If you have business, you will conduct it properly, or not at all.”
The maid hovered uncertainly at the edge of the exchange, her hands twisting together. Eleanor glanced back at her, her expression softening just enough to offer instruction.
“Return at once,” she said quietly. “Fetch His Grace. Do not delay.”
The maid nodded, relief flickering across her face before she turned and hurried away, her pace uneven but determined.
Arabella’s attention returned to Covington.
He had not moved, though his gaze flickered briefly in the direction the maid had gone, as though registering the implication of Eleanor’s instruction. Something like irritation crossed his features, though it did not fully settle before it was replaced again by that same strange intensity.
“You should not be out,” he said, his voice lowering now, though the urgency remained. “Not exposed like this.”
Arabella felt the faintest stir of unease, though she did not allow it to show. “I am not exposed, my lord. I am walking with my sister, as is entirely proper.”
“Proper?” he repeated, the word carrying an edge she had not heard from him before. “You think propriety will protect you?”
Eleanor took another step forward, her position now unmistakably between them. “That will be enough,” she said, her voice firm. “You have said quite enough for one morning.”
Covington’s attention shifted to her then, though it did not linger long. “You do not understand the danger,” he said. “Neither of you do.”
Arabella’s gaze moved again, more deliberately this time, taking in the stretch of the promenade around them. There were others present, but not near enough to intervene quickly should it become necessary. The distance between groups felt larger than it should have been.
“Then you will explain it,” Eleanor replied. “Calmly. And without dramatics.”
Covington gave a short, humorless breath. “Calm has already cost too much.”
The words landed strangely, not quite coherent in their urgency.
Arabella felt the unease deepen, though she could not yet name it fully. “You are not making sense,” she said.
His gaze returned to her at once. “I am attempting to ensure your safety.”
“My safety does not require your interference,” she said, more sharply than she intended.
Something in him shifted at that.
“Does it not?” he asked, his tone altering, the restraint thinning. “You are alone. Your husband is not here. And yet you walk as though nothing has changed.”
Eleanor’s hand tightened slightly at Arabella’s arm. “We are not alone,” she said. “And you will step back.”
Covington did not comply.
Instead, he moved forward.
The distance between them closed in an instant, too quickly for the shift to feel anything but deliberate. Eleanor reacted at once, placing herself fully between him and Arabella, her posture rigid with quiet authority.
“You will not come any closer,” she said.
For a moment, it seemed he might listen.
Then the moment passed.
It happened faster than she could properly understand. Eleanor’s breath caught as his hand came up.
Arabella saw it too late.
There was a sharp sound, out of place in the morning stillness, and Eleanor’s body faltered where she stood. The strength left her all at once, her weight shifting forward before collapsing without resistance.
“Eleanor—”
Arabella moved instinctively, her hands reaching for her sister, but she did not reach her in time.
Strong hands closed around her arm instead.
“Do not struggle,” Covington said, his voice low again, though the urgency had not left it.
Arabella twisted against the grip, shock cutting through the lingering weakness from earlier. “Release me,” she demanded, though the words lacked the force she intended.
“There is no time,” he replied.
Her heart began to race, the situation settling into something she could no longer dismiss as a misunderstanding. “What are you doing?”
“Removing you from a situation you do not yet comprehend,” he said, his grip tightening as he pulled her back.
Arabella’s gaze darted once more across the promenade. The distance between them and the nearest walkers felt suddenly, disastrously far.
“Let me go,” she said again, more urgently now, though her strength did not match the demand.
Covington did not release her.
Behind them, Eleanor lay unmoving where she had fallen.
And before Arabella could gather herself to resist again, the world shifted abruptly as he forced her away from the path and toward the waiting carriage just beyond the line of tree.